


A Beginning

by Too_Many_Usernames



Series: Aedan Cousland [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-16
Updated: 2017-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-24 23:58:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9793211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Too_Many_Usernames/pseuds/Too_Many_Usernames
Summary: Lothering doesn't matter. It feels like it should.





	

Morrigan walked, purposefully stepping loudly on leaves and twigs toward where the warden sat, staring into nothing. She cleared her throat, and he jumped a little, before forcing a little small. She thrust one of the bowls of stew into his hands, and sat down next to him. He followed her with his bemused eyes, clearly a little confused. Morrigan had made it all too clear that she wasn't here to become friends with the two wardens, thank you very much. But she felt a little jealous at the easy banter and camaraderie of the two men. The dog liked her - but his form of showing affection was to leave various dead or half eaten things around where Morrigan slept.

''I am... curious, Warden, about you.'' She began, addressing his still bemused smile. ''Your name seems to command respect from that simpleton you call Alistair.'' He smiled again, as both their eyes glanced over to where Alistair sat at the fire, seemingly having an argument with the dog over the last bits of meat.

''Do you know much about Fereldan nobility, Morrigan?'' He asked, setting the spoon down. She looked at him scathingly, she had lived her entire life in the Kocari wilds. She knew about mushrooms, and plants, and where was safe to walk. She had neither the time or interest to look into politics. He laughed, quietly. And nodded, as if to say 'fair enough.'

''I'm a Cousland, it's the second most powerful family next to the royalty.'' She nodded, She'd heard the name Cousland before, in her mother's tales, but hadn't put much meaning to it until when she first met Aedan, watching from the trees as they ventured into the wilds, and the awe struck way the two other recruits looked at him.

''You don't seem particularly happy about that.'' She commented. Although, thankfully, he didn't weep quite like Alistair the Warden seemed to move about in a perpetual state of shock, and his eyes carried such a potent sadness, even Morrigan couldn't help but feel it.

''It's complicated.''

''I am no fool, Warden. Explain, and I will likely understand.'' He looked at her levelly for a moment, frowning.

''You don't want to know what happened to me.'' He said returning to the food in his hands.

''Indeed? Why do you believe you can assume that about me?'' She asked, a little irritated.

''Because you'll have to pity me. And then it'll be harder for you to hate us.'' He said, a slight edge in his voice, and rose, walking away from her. She'd stepped too far. Morrigan harrumphed, settling into his spot. Wasn't her fault she tried to befriend him.

\---------------

In reality, Lothering was a completely inconsequential settlement that barely earned the title 'town'. Yet after those days, walking silently and numb through the cold damp forest it seemed as huge and opulent as Highever. Or, at least what Highever might have once been.

''So you'll do it, Warden?'' Aedan was snapped from disassociation, and nodded towards the chantry mother. She had approached him and Alistair as they sat silent in the chantry pews. Dirty and broken as it might have been, there was no avoiding their blue uniforms, and what that meant. The chantry mother was not an old woman, she moved with a propriety of haste, though she seemed dragged down by the constant fear of her people. Aedan simply nodded, and some of the weight upon her seemed to disintegrate. She rose, bowing her head, and hurried towards her next chore. She'd just asked for help. She knew that there was no stopping the blight, all she wanted was time, slow the hoard to just give them more time.

''I'll meet you by the bridge later.'' Aedan said, as he rose. There was little point staying, he knew that, any belief in the maker was had crumbled into the dust of Highever. There was no point seeking comfort there. The sword at his hip was the only way he could find comfort, he supposed, in some sick way.

''You!'' Aedan tensed as a man lurched towards him, the same one who'd been raving nonsense earlier. ''You have it inside you!'' He said, his eyes wide and savage. ''He has the evil!'' The raving man said, stumbling backwards, frantically looking around for support. Aedan frowned as the man fell to the ground, trembling. ''There is no escape, there is no escape!'' He whispered frantically rocking back and forth. Pathetic. A voice hissed in his mind. Everyone who watched them looked expectantly and pointedly at Aedan. He ignored it, still trying to cling desperately to what his father had always taught him. That force is nothing without diplomacy.

''What happened?'' He eventually asked, squatting down to the man's height.

''So many of them - swarming all over, never ending... their blood it burned it burned them down and my girls... they took my girls. There is no escape. Not for anyone.'' His voice was rising, attracting more and more attention.

''Listen to me.'' He hissed, quietly, grabbing the man's shirt and pulling him forwards ''The Darkspawn are coming. You lost your girls, but these people, they have a chance of running - of saving their own but you screaming - you won't help. You won't get your girls back but you can help others. You saw them, know what they can do. Stay with this people and help, dammit.'' He rose, suddenly aware of the significant crowd he had gathered. All of them stared, expectant for some speech.

''You all need to be ready to run. I was at Ostagar - I know what the darkspawn can do.'' He swallowed, at the glum and frightened faces of the peasants. He'd never been too good at speaking, even after all those bloody oratory lessons. What was it Aldous always said? Everyone wants to hear about the Maker. ''Depend on the Maker, and Andraste's light to guide you. But depend on each other. Go North - cross the sea if you must, Warn those you meet of the truth. Stay strong in the face of corruption. And remember the Grey Wardens will protect you.'' At that title, the crown began to mutter, and he passed through the easily splitting crowds. He walked toward the camp, trying to keep his head high, and glanced down at Dog, by his feet. The Mabari looked up at him expectantly., waiting for something. He grunted a little, in frustrated anger. Why did everyone want him to lead? Alistair was a Warden longer than him - Morrigan knew more about the place, yet both of them seemed to find the idea of their leadership laughable.

''Well that was interesting.'' As if summoned by his thoughts, Morrigan's voice suddenly broke the silence.

''Morrigan.'' He greeted simply, not turning to face her. ''Do you need something?'' His voice was terse as he curled his fingers around the crumbling wall edge they had made their camp by.

''No. Besides, I'm sure I can, how did you put it? 'Rely on the maker?' I didn't take you for a pious man, Warden.''

''I'm not. The Maker won't help them, I certainly can't help them. Most of them are going to die but at least they might die with hope.''

''Seems a foolish effort to make.'' She said, wrinkling her nose in distaste.

''Fighting the blight seems like a foolish effort.'' He snapped, perhaps a little more angrily than he intended.

''Hmmrph.'' She turned on her heels, and began to march away.

''Wait-'' He began, readying an apology. But she was gone. He groaned again, running a hand across the growing stubble on his cheek.

''He said he was at Ostagar, Beth!'' A hissed voice came from a the right. Of course, someone else needed something from him. He placed a careful hand by his sword, ready to deal with any potential money seeking bandits. He had a price on his head now.

''What do you want?'' He called into the forest. A shaggy mabari bounded out of the darkness towards his dog, followed by two dark haired people. About his own age, they looked strikingly similar, save for a messy red birthmark splayed across his nose.

''Hello, Mr Warden sir.'' The man began. ''My name is Garrett, Garrett Hawke, and this is my sister, Bethany. Tha's Barkspawn.'' Garrett nodded towards the two Mabari, who were happily wrestling in the dirt.

''We heard you in the square, Warden. You were at Ostagar?'' She posed it as a question, as though she didn't believe him, but she had a desperation to.

''I was.''

''Our Brother he - maybe you knew him - Carver, Carver Hawke? Looks like me but beardless, and splotch-less, face like he just et a sour lemon?'' Aedan shook his head, and sighed. It wasn't the answer they wanted, but it was all he had to say.

''I... I was unable to see the full retreat - so it's possible your brother might have got out.''

''Might.'' Bethany said, a tired sigh flitting across her face. ''That won't reassure Mother.''

''If his - if his contingent was under Loghain, or - or on a flank.. It's more likely.''

''How long do you think we've got left - before the Darkspawn come?''

''Days - weeks if we're lucky.''

''What do we do to slow them?'' Aedan sighed, running a hand through his hair. These people didn't need morale, they needed facts.

''Physical defences don't last long.'' He looked steadily at them, noticing they both carried pike-like staves, highly engraved. He looked pointedly at them. ''Find a mage and set up wards, block the roads if you can. That'll slow the hoard but it'll slow everyone coming from the south.'' The two looked at each other knowingly, and nodded a little.

''Thank you, Warden.'' Bethany said, and pushed her brother back into the forest, their Mabari trotting quickly after.

 

\----------

 

He never did find out if Carver Hawke got home. Morrigan was insistent that they leave. And though he hated to do it, and abandon the town to whatever terrible fate the hoard would bring, he could sense them, the quiet lull of darkspawn activity was growing louder in his head.

But they didn't leave alone - they were accompanied by Sten, the giant warrior Qunari, and Leliana, a pleasant chantry sister. But of course, Sten went on a killing rampage, and rarely spoke, and Leliana thought the maker had been talking to her. Even so, it was comforting to have more than just the three of them and Dog in battle. They had even managed to attract the dwarven merchant, and his son Sandal that they'd met earlier. He didn't mind. They carried with them blankets and supplies, and could load their things into the cart led by the temperamental donkey. It seemed at least a step in achieving something.

When they got to Lothering, they just wanted to get out of the wilds. And all he wanted to do was hunt down Howe, and kill him slowly as possible. He didn't care about the Blight when there was his family's blood that needed to be answered for. But in a strange way, it seemed they had some sort of a chance. Though they had to sell any griffin adornments, and Morrigan had used her magic to colour their armour black, after complaining how painfully obvious the two were, and he had begun to feel like more of a Grey Warden. It had been one of his foolish dreams - He'd gone to bed that final night in Highever thinking over how he might ask his father to let him join Duncan. But in the end it was his father who begged him to go. Taking the griffon was the last thing he wanted as Highever burnt. But Fereldan could burn - Thedas could burn. He'd heard the stories about old blights but stories - all about glory and resilience were nothing - nothing compared to what he had already seen them do.

He still wasn't used to that, that moment when he sensed them, getting pulled through the mind of the hoard, hearing the call of the Archdemon that too sweet, alluring and sickening sound that made him want to claw at his ears so that he would not feel it, or run, and not stop running until he had found it. It scared him. Being some part of the hoard. Being Darkspawn.


End file.
